


in morning and sunlight

by treescape



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, But mostly fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Top Anakin Skywalker, a tiny bit of angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treescape/pseuds/treescape
Summary: They didn’t get many mornings like this one. Sometimes they didn’t really get mornings at all, day bleeding into night and then back into day with nothing, not even a few interrupted hours of half-sleep, to mark the change. It made the mornings theydidget almost unbearably sweet, a brief glimpse of sunlight behind clouds of combat.Or, 5 mornings Obi-Wan and Anakin experienced during and after the Clone Wars, + the ones they didn’t have to.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 24
Kudos: 219





	in morning and sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self-indulgent fluff. 5 random mornings, set sometime during the Clone Wars, I have no idea when; I just wanted to write morning cuddles and sex, basically.

**1.**

They didn’t get many mornings like this one. Sometimes they didn’t really get mornings at all, day bleeding into night and then back into day with nothing, not even a few interrupted hours of half-sleep, to mark the change. It made the mornings they _did_ get almost unbearably sweet, a brief glimpse of sunlight behind clouds of combat.

Obi-Wan’s limbs were still loose with the aftershocks of orgasm as Anakin moved up his body, glancing at his face and sucking hot, urgent kisses against the stretch of his stomach and hips. Anakin looked and felt so pleased with himself, so pleased with _Obi-Wan_ and the slow expanse of morning before them. It made something tighten painfully in Obi-Wan’s chest, because this, _this_ was what he wanted Anakin to have—contentment, and pleasure, and the time to be someone other than _General Skywalker_.

Not agony. Not war.

Anakin paused in his ascent to curl his tongue around one nipple, the sharp tenderness of it enough to make the air thin in Obi-Wan’s lungs, but then he was surging up, as if he was too impatient to wait any longer for Obi-Wan’s mouth. Obi-Wan certainly had no objections, but then, it was difficult to object to anything when Anakin’s thoughts were such a tangle of light.

He twisted his fingers into the chaos of Anakin’s hair to hold him there, let Anakin advance inside all heat and hunger and need. The taste of himself on Anakin’s lips, within the lush interior of Anakin’s mouth, recalled image after image to Obi-Wan’s mind: Anakin sprawled between his legs, Anakin’s eyes glinting in the light, Anakin’s mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, so messy and wet and _loud_ in the silence of Obi-Wan’s Temple quarters.

They so rarely had the luxury of sound; Anakin seemed to revel in it, when they did.

Anakin was thrusting against his hip almost idly as they kissed, so hard it must have been painful. Obi-Wan thought for a moment about pulling him in close and urging him to finish that way, but it wouldn’t matter how firmly Obi-Wan held him, or how tightly Anakin’s cock slid, trapped, between their bodies. It could never be close enough. They spent so much time at opposite ends of the galaxy, and Obi-Wan had just about had all he could stomach when it came to distance of any kind whatsoever. He might not be able to do anything about it in the grander scheme of things—they went where the Republic sent them—but he could do something about it _now_.

So instead, Obi-Wan hooked a leg behind one of Anakin’s to signal his intention and _flipped_. Anakin went easily, for all that his limbs and mind were coiled tight with want. Obi-Wan settled himself up over Anakin’s hips, his knees spread to either side of Anakin’s body, and tried not to lose himself completely—not yet—in the endless breadth of warm skin beneath him

“It seems such a shame to waste this lovely bed.” It was a bed neither of them had seen in weeks, caught up in mission after mission, absence after absence. Obi-Wan felt almost like a stranger in his own rooms, these days.

“I wouldn’t call getting to make a mess of you a _waste_ ,” Anakin argued, something suspiciously like a smirk playing a the corners of his mouth, but he shut right up when Obi-Wan reached for the lube on the table beside him. Anakin licked carefully at his own lips, catching the bottom one between his teeth, and it looked conscious, deliberate—as he if he was just trying to hold on. His hands came up to bracket Obi-Wan’s waist, instinctively bracing him from falling, breath coming shallow but steady through what Obi-Wan suspected was sheer force of will.

Obi-Wan was used to fingering himself open quickly—in the few moments they managed to steal whenever they were flung together by the anomalous rhythms of the war, or when he was alone, desperate for the pressure but unable to bear the extravagance of taking his time without Anakin. There was time now, to be sure, but Obi-Wan didn’t want to wait, and the almost dazed look on Anakin’s face beneath him did nothing to change his mind. It wasn’t his own fingers he wanted; it was Anakin.

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” Anakin breathed as Obi-Wan steadied his cock with one shaking hand and slid inexorably down, and the way he shaped those syllables made it seem as if they were the only ones worth taking the effort to say, ever, anywhere in all the galaxy. Anakin’s fingers flexed tighter, a bare hint of nails pressing against skin, as if he couldn’t stand not holding Obi-Wan closer, and this, here, more than anything—this was morning, and sunlight, and home.

  


**2.**

Obi-Wan woke to a slow but sure descent of kisses down his spine, the sweet press and release of Anakin’s lips on his skin. The combined heat of the blankets and _Anakin_ against his hips and thighs was an indulgence of weight.

With the whimsy of half-wakefulness, Obi-Wan thought that _these_ were the moments that truly anchored him in this war.

He squinted his eyes open only to catch an unfortunate sight of the chrono on the wall. “Don’t you have training with Ahsoka this morning?” he mumbled, almost startled at the rasp of his own words.

“Mmmm. Not for another twenty minutes.” Anakin’s voice was still husky with sleep. There was something almost foreign to it, shot through with slumber and ease, and the sound of it made Obi-Wan wish he didn’t have to say what he said next. “Just enough time for you to make it to the sparring rooms, then.”

There was a chuckle and another heated kiss against his spine before Anakin raised himself up to nip at the lobe of Obi-Wan’s ear, and the shivery feel of it had Obi-Wan pressing his hips into the mattress. “Pretty sure I can make it there in ten,” Anakin said, nudging his nose up against the back of Obi-Wan’s neck.

Obi-Wan made a skeptical noise, somewhere halfway between hungry and amused, as Anakin brushed a kiss to the tender skin behind his ear. Anakin had been making similar statements almost as long as Obi-Wan had known him, but somehow, he always managed to be late. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Is that a challenge?”

The smile in Anakin’s voice was practically a physical thing, and Obi-Wan very suddenly needed to see it. He shifted, using the weight of his own body to dislodge Anakin just enough to turn. Pressed chest to chest, Anakin was hard against his hip, hair a tousled crown of light and face still creased with sleep. Obi-Wan had too few such images to tuck away in his heart, these days—Anakin with the sun on his cheeks, and brightness in his smile, and true pleasure in his signature in the Force.

Perhaps Anakin could be a _few_ minutes late.

“Would you like it to be?” Obi-Wan murmured as he drew Anakin in for a kiss, catching at that full lower lip for a moment with his teeth.

“I….” Anakin’s voice curled into a moan as Obi-Wan got one hand around his cock, wet at the tip and straining into Obi-Wan’s touch. “I have to admit, I don’t really care right now.” He seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment, leaning forward to press his brow against Obi-Wan’s, eyelashes fluttering and breath hitching unevenly at every twist of Obi-Wan’s fingers. “I want to fuck you,” he finally managed softly, regretfully.

Just for a moment, Obi-Wan entertained the thought of throwing all responsibility to the wind and _asking_ him to. Anakin would press him to the mattress, open him up on fingers that weren’t Obi-Wan’s own, work his cock inside with sure strokes. It was a strange sort of grief, that Obi-Wan could never seem to get Anakin close enough, to have Anakin deep enough within his body.

“Later,” Obi-Wan murmured instead, and perhaps it wasn’t wise to promise such things. Anything could happen, between one breath and the next; Obi-Wan could be assigned to the furthest reaches of the Republic before Anakin even returned.

But it wasn’t selfish, necessarily, to think that he’d find a way anyway; he’d do just about anything for Anakin, after all, even if he could only find them a few minutes.

“Come on, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured, his hand squeezing lightly around the head of Anakin’s cock on every stroke, and there was something extremely gratifying about the way the low catch of those words in the morning light made Anakin screw his eyes closed and come in slow pulses all over Obi-Wan’s hand. Obi-Wan stroked him through it, not even trying to avoid making a mess. That had surprised Anakin, when they first started doing this at the beginning of the war; Obi-Wan tended to like _neatness_ , but he made certain exceptions when it was Anakin making a mess of them.

“Force,” Anakin panted after a moment, eyes opening as he reached one hand up to tangle in Obi-Wan’s hair, “come here.” On the surface of things, that made no sense, given how tightly Obi-Wan’s hand was lodged between their bodies, but Obi-Wan understood the driving need to be _close_.

“You’re already late,” Obi-Wan cautioned, even as Anakin got a hand around him, but he couldn’t get out anything else around the pleasure already unfolding in his gut.

“Then,” Anakin said, the unsteadiness of his breath firming with determination, “I’ll just have to be a few minutes later.”

  


**3.**

The next morning, before Obi-Wan shipped out to Argus, Anakin took him apart piece by piece in the grey light before dawn. He knew that the memory, shining and bright, would be one of the things holding him together in the weeks to come.

  


**4.**

It was almost dawn when Obi-Wan returned to the Temple; by the time he made it to his quarters, the first rays of sunlight had just grazed the horizon. He had long since steeled himself against the sure defeat of expectation—just because Anakin was scheduled to be on Coruscant didn’t mean he hadn’t been called away—but when the doors slid closed behind him, Anakin’s presence was everywhere. It was in the boots by the floor and the robe over one chair and the sleepy thoughts tucked away in the bedchamber.

He found Anakin curled up in a bed that was no longer really just Obi-Wan’s, one arm flung across the mattress as if hoping to find somebody there. The blankets dipped below one shoulder, and Obi-Wan could just barely make out the unassuming weave of one of his own spare robes against Anakin’s skin, as if the covers of their bed hadn't been warm enough without something of Obi-Wan there, too.

Gently, Obi-Wan sat on the edge of the bed, and the movement caused Anakin to stir. “Good morning,” Obi-Wan murmured with a smile, brushing one stray curl off of Anakin's forehead.

Anakin moved instinctively into his touch, hand groping its way up to curl around Obi-Wan's fingers. His lips barely moved as he spoke, the question as much a despondent feeling in the Force as it was actual words. “Is it time to get up?” 

“Not quite yet,” Obi-Wan said, and swung himself more properly onto the bed.

"Good," Anakin mumbled, and pressed his face into the crook of Obi-Wan's neck.

Obi-Wan just held him and breathed.

  


**5\. (+the ones they didn't have to)**

Obi-Wan never woke in the desert, full of loneliness and grief, as the freezing nights of Tatooine boiled over into day. Anakin never woke on a ship of despair, his body a tomb for the emptiness within.

There was never any need to, because that's a different story.

When the Dark Lord lay dead, his plots revealed to the light, Obi-Wan woke at Anakin’s side in the familiarity of his own quarters. The next years would be long, and hard, and they would spend many months apart as they worked to help piece the Republic back together—hopefully into something better than it had been before.

But for just a moment, Obi-Wan watched the rising sunlight play across Anakin’s face. Even in sleep, it was lined with the cares that war had put there, but one day those would ease.

And Obi-Wan would get to see it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm [treescape](https://treescape.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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